


and once again I am drinking the sun

by poetofthebees



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Mycroft Plays the Piano, Romance, happy fic!, mystrade, short fic, title is Mary Oliver btw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:42:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthebees/pseuds/poetofthebees
Summary: “Tell me something about you that no one knows.”“There are many things about me that no one knows, Gregory.”“Alright, then this should be easy for you. I want to get to know you, okay?”Mycroft sighed. “If you insist.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before deciding on an answer.“I play the piano.”
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Lestrade
Comments: 8
Kudos: 91





	and once again I am drinking the sun

“Tell me something about you that no one knows.”  
“There are many things about me that no one knows, Gregory.”  
“Alright, then this should be easy for you. I want to get to know you, okay?”  
Mycroft sighed. “If you insist.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before deciding on an answer.  
“I play the piano.”  
“I bet you’re amazing at it, too, aren’t you?” Greg grinned. It made sense: Sherlock played the violin, so why wouldn’t his brother also be musically inclined?  
“I have been told I play well, yes.” Mycroft looked embarrassed.  
“You’re being modest, aren’t you?” Trust one of the most amazing people Greg had ever met to play down his accomplishments constantly. Greg couldn’t understand why Mycroft didn’t see how extraordinary he was. Greg often thought someone had been cruel to him in childhood. Mycroft’s many insecurities made no sense to Greg. “Would you ever play for me sometime?” he asked.  
“Perhaps,” Mycroft said with a little smile. They went back to their dinner and Greg began to tell him a story from work.  
\--

The piano subject was not brought up again for a little over a month. Greg had finally been invited to Mycroft’s house, instead of going to the clean, white flat he kept in central London. Mycroft explained the house’s history; it had been in his family for several generations, the décor rarely changed, and the house was kept up by a housekeeper and groundskeeper who lived close by.  
They meandered about the grand house as Mycroft mentioned the story behind this painting or that table. He seemed proud of what he had, and his face seemed to light up as they went from room to room. Eventually, they made their way to the back of the house, where Mycroft spent most his time when he was home. A large comfortable leather couch sat in front of a fireplace and television, something Greg had always dreamed of having, but he was more interested in the grand piano gracing the right corner of the room.  
He looked up at Mycroft somewhat expectantly, smiling when the man rolled his eyes and made his way to the bench. Mycroft sat down and let out a breath before placing his hands on the keys.  
The music started so suddenly that Greg startled. It wasn’t a fast melody, wasn’t one he was familiar with. It was sweet and filled with melancholy. It was longing made into music. The song seemed to last for hours or maybe only seconds. Greg was transfixed with the art of the man before him: Mycroft, with his eyes closed, fingers fluttering over the keys. The last strands of orange sunlight grazed over his forearms where he had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Mycroft had never been a conventionally attractive man, but he could be so beautiful that it hurt to look at him. Greg’s breathing hitched and he felt such a strong and particularly sharp love for him, sharp enough to poke into his chest and lungs.  
Mycroft stopped playing and looked up at Greg expectantly but with no great emotion, as though he hadn’t noticed the world change like Greg had. His brow furrowed and he asked Greg, “Are you feeling alright? You look flushed.”  
“I’m fine. Did you write that?”  
“Yes, I compose often, as does Sher—”  
“Shut up,” Greg gasped out, sitting down on the nearby couch. “God, I am so in love with you I don’t think I can breathe. I don’t know if I can ever look at a piano the same way again.”  
“What? It’s just a song, surely it wasn’t that awe-inspiring.” Mycroft made his way over to Greg and knelt beside him. “Are you sure you’re alright?”  
“Okay, you don’t get it. It wasn’t just a song; it was your song. It sounded like you, it felt like you. You filled up the room with it. Didn’t you hear me? I said I’m in love with you? Did you not hear that part?”  
Mycroft brought a hand up to Greg’s cheek. “I heard you. I know.” He looked at Greg then, his eyes cloudy with something Greg couldn’t decipher. “You should know that I—I feel for you as well. I’m not sure how to—”  
Greg laughed. “Oh thank God, I thought I’d made a complete idiot of myself.”  
Mycroft’s face lit up with a smile. “Never.”  
He pressed a kiss onto Greg’s mouth and tugged on his hands to pull him off the couch. Greg stood up and wrapped his arms around the taller man. Greg tucked his chin into the crook of Mycroft’s neck and breathed in the smell of his cologne. “I know this might be childish, but I just—”  
“What is it, Gregory?”  
“Can I hear it? I don’t want to pressure you or anything, but just so I know for sure that this is real. That you and I are real. I know it’s silly because they’re just words and—oh God, I’m rambling.”  
“It’s not silly at all,” Mycroft said, rubbing a hand across Greg’s back. “I love you. I’m in love with you. This is real.”  
Greg had never believed in fate. He had never believed in happy endings or fairytales. He had given up on love after his failed marriage. But in that moment, in Mycroft’s arms, all Greg could think about was that rainy afternoon years ago when a tall man with an umbrella had outstretched one hand towards him and introduced himself. All the missed chances afterwards, all the time wasted still led him to this moment. Greg watched the sun set through Mycroft’s window and closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of a love he’d waited his entire life to find.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I haven't written anything for AO3 in awhile, so please be gentle and let me know if I made any mistakes.


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